


Edge of the Horizon

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Episode: s05e13 Revelation 6:8, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos has bad dreams and memories after the events with the Horsemen. Joe sends an old friend to help him cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 1997 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.

"Hey, Adam."

It took Methos a few seconds to place the rather calm, subdued voice on the other end of the phone. He kept his eyes closed as he rubbed his stubbled face tiredly. "Joe? That you?" he asked sleepily into the phone. He sat up in bed and shifted his gaze to his clock. He squinted, but quickly gave up trying to read the blurry numbers. "What time is it?" he asked as a yawn threatened to crack his jaw.

Joe Dawson's soft voice confirmed, "Yeah, it's me. Your time? About six, I think. I haven't been sleeping much since MacLeod took off after you, and...well. You know the rest."

Methos inhaled through his nose and let it out slowly, waking himself up. "Yeah, I know," he replied quietly as he reached over and flicked on the light. He realized he had fallen asleep in his clothes and shook his head ruefully. He was falling into bad habits -- again. The line remained quiet, though he could hear Joe's steady breathing on the other end. "Listen, Joe, I know this is costing you a fortune. Was there something you needed to tell me?"

Joe began hesitantly, "Well, no, not really. I was just... I was wondering..."

"What happened in Bordeaux," Methos finished for the Watcher. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. After the events of the past few weeks, he didn't think he'd ever get to sleep. He slept now, but only because he pushed himself to the brink of sheer exhaustion.

He didn't want to sleep. Sleep brought dreams, and for him that meant nightmares; very real nightmares that he didn't want to relive. Joe had called at a decent hour, but for Methos, it was still the middle of the night. He had been living there - in darkness - ever since Kronos' reappearance in his life.

"No, not actually." Joe's response surprised him. Methos had assumed that would have been the first thing Dawson wanted to know about. "I wanted to know how you were doing."

Laughter bordering on the hysterical burst out of Methos' mouth. "How I'm doing," he replied in disbelief. His voice held a threat in it as he continued, "You don't want me to answer that, Joe."

"Yes, I do," was the quiet reply. "Hey, I'm your friend. I know you've been through hell. I'm just . . I wanted to make sure you were okay. If not okay; then if there was anything I could do to help."

Methos sobered at Joe's tone. He kept forgetting just how sensitive the mortal was to Immortals' moods, especially MacLeod's and his. And Joe was only asking because he cared; something that always struck him as slightly strange. But then, Joe wasn't a typical man. He felt guilt settle on his shoulders -- unbelievable, after everything he had done in the past month. Methos didn't think he had any emotions left. He had only partially teased MacLeod about finding his conscience; he had allowed it to be found because of Joe Dawson.

There was real regret in his voice as he replied, "I'm sorry, Joe. That was uncalled for. It's just...I've had a lot on my mind lately."  _The understatement of the century if I've ever heard one_.

"Maybe so. . . but it's also understandable. From the little I've heard, I'd say you have a lot of unfinished business to deal with."

Methos swallowed around the lump in his throat. "No, not actually," he echoed Joe's earlier statement. "All my business is finished. Permanently." The lump grew, and he had to take several deep breaths to calm the sick feeling welling up in his chest. "They're all dead," he whispered.

"MacLeod?" Joe queried after a minute.

Methos nodded, forgetting that Joe couldn't see him. His throat seized up, and he had trouble breathing. Somehow, he choked out, "He took Kronos and Caspian." His head fell forward, and his voice dropped to a rasp as he added, "I killed Silas." He fought back the painful memories and emotions, unwilling to let them overwhelm him again.

There was silence on both ends of the phone for another long minute, then Joe spoke softly. "Methos, I'm sorry."

Joe's concern struck Methos right in the gut. "Why?" he blurted out before he could stop it. "Because they had to be stopped? Because MacLeod got to do it? Or because I had to?" A strangled laugh caught in his throat. "I guess you believe I deserved what I got, too. Cassandra should have taken her chance and killed me..."

"Adam!" Joe's impatient bark brought Methos back to his senses. His laughter faded and he blinked a few times to focus. "Joe? Joe, I'm sorry. I haven't slept, I'm not thinking clearly...I barely know what time of day it is. Or night," he commented absently as he slid his gaze to the window. The sun was just setting; a majestic view that only made Methos feel that much more alone. "You know what I was, Joe," he murmured. "You know what I did." Unconsciously, he closed his eyes and waited for the accusations.

Joe was quiet on the other end before answering. "Yeah, I know. I also know that you've changed. Any man who can go from . . that...to loving Alexa...well...you're different now," Joe finished uneasily. "And I'm not MacLeod," he added softly; so soft that Methos barely heard it.

"Joe?" he questioned, licking his suddenly dry lips. Methos didn't dare think. If he thought of what the Watcher was really saying, he might break down completely. "Are you saying...?"

Joe's reply was spoken softly, as if he were trying to calm a nervous filly -- or an emotional Immortal. "It's not my place to judge you, Methos. It's not anybody's place, except those you hurt -- and all of them are long gone."

Tears blurred his vision as Joe's words sunk in.  _All but one_ , Methos thought briefly, remembering the sound of Cassandra's voice as she screamed at him one last time. . .  _Now I'm supposed to forgive you_? A soft moan escaped his parted lips; part agony, part anger. "I'm my own worst judge. Maybe it's all finally caught up with me. Maybe this is the punishment I deserved all those years ago."

The line was silent for a long moment after his statement, and Methos thought Joe had hung up. He couldn't blame the Watcher; some days he didn't want to face himself in the mirror. Why would Joe -- or anyone who knew what he had done - want to associate with him? Just when he was ready to hang up, Joe's concerned voice crackled over the phone.

"I'm sending someone over there. You sound like you could use the company."

"Don't want people here," Methos murmured, distracted by the darkening sky. In a lot of ways, it reminded him of himself. Lightness that was his early life, turning slowly into the darkness that he had plunged himself into for a thousand years, with rivers of blood the lead-in. Fitting somehow, he supposed. He imagined he could hear Silas' great laugh...

"ADAM PIERSON!"

Startled, Methos dropped the receiver as Joe's voice shouted into his ear. He scrambled to the floor in search of it, cursing. He stretched under the bed until his fingers curled around it, then placed it to his ear.

"Joe! You there, Joe?" he shouted into the phone. He sighed as he heard the dial tone. He didn't even know where Joe was calling from, so returning the call was pointless. He supposed he'd have company soon, though he had no energy to do anything about it. He let the receiver fall out of his now-limp hand as he leaned back against the bed. His gaze once again drifted to the window, and the darkening sky beyond.

**Bronze Age**

"What do you think it is?"

"Hm?" Methos remained standing on the side of the hill, his arms crossed as the slight breeze ruffled his hair. His only movement was to turn his head to look at his brother. Silas was standing by his side, staring - fascinated - at the setting sun.

"What is it?" Silas repeated his question as he nodded to the horizon.

Methos turned his thoughtful gaze back to the brilliance. "There are many beliefs about it. Some worship it as a god. You have heard them," he waited until he saw Silas nod, then continued. "There are some who believe it is alive, like we are. Others still believe it to be nothing more than what it is: light."

Silas was quiet a moment, then asked, "Which do you believe, brother?"

Methos smiled minutely. "None of them."

At that, Silas walked in front of him and grasped his upper arm. "Come. Tell me what you believe."

His left hand came up and rested on Silas' thick forearm. "I will tell you what I believe, only after you have told me your beliefs. Agreed?"

Silas smiled hugely and patted his hand. "Agreed," he nodded, then moved to stand beside him again. "I think it is fire. It is hot, like the fires that warm us at night."

"So you believe it is made of fire?" Methos mused as his eyes narrowed at the setting sun.

"Yes," Silas answered, grinning. "I even think it is where the fire comes from, sometimes." The great man turned to him, then. "Now, what do you believe, brother?"

Methos pointed to the horizon. "You see how it blurs along the bottom? It also does that when it comes up and brightens the sky. I believe it is sinking into the ground, actually being swallowed up by it. I have seen similar-colored, steaming liquid coming out of the ground. Each day, part of the ground comes up and lights up the sky, then returns to rest."

He saw the sunlight reflecting in Silas' bright eyes, and smiled minutely again.

"You think it is part of the sky?" Silas asked, confused.

"Not so much part of the sky, but more a part of the whole around us. The ground and the sky are the same; made of the same thing. The sky is as hard as the ground under our feet."

Methos turned to watch the last of the sun return to the ground, the sky turning blood red...he looked down at his blood-stained hands, and felt his heart lurch.

***********

A Buzz cut through his senses, and Methos jumped to his feet, startled. With his heart hammering in his chest, he grabbed his sword and edged along the wall to the front door. No one knew where he lived. He had gotten this new flat in Paris only a week ago, after he had left Bordeaux. Either it was a lucky Immortal, or he had been followed. Neither option calmed him.

"Methos?" a feminine voice called through the door.

Methos lowered his sword, puzzled. "Amanda?" he replied as he unlocked the door. Amanda stood on the other side, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Can I come in?" she asked quietly, her eyes falling to the sword still held in his hand.

He remained in front of the doorway as he waited for his heart to stop pounding. "I'm not really up for company just now," he growled softly. He studied her face and recognized the look of determination he saw there. "But I get the feeling you won't take 'no' for an answer."

"You'd be right," she remarked casually as she pushed past him into his living area.

Methos very nearly slammed the door shut, but instead, closed and locked it carefully. As he followed her into his living area, he addressed the female Immortal. "Is there something I can do for you, Amanda? Or were you just in the neighborhood?"

Amanda fell gracefully to the couch and stretched her arms across the back. Her gaze was frank as she stated, "I came to see you."

Methos padded across the floor and deposited his sword along the wall where it had rested before. "I'm not very personable right now, Amanda. I'd really rather be alone," he snarled in his best irritated voice, hoping to send her away.

"I don't think you do."

He raised an eyebrow at her stubbornness, but had to admire her forthrightness. "Did I stutter? I'd rather be alone, Amanda."

She crossed her legs, which settled her more firmly onto his furniture. "Methos, if you really wanted to be alone, I wouldn't be sitting on your couch."

He could hardly disagree with that. If he truly wanted her out of his flat, she would never have gotten through the door. But Methos was still irritated at the abruptness of her visit, so he let that irritation filter through his voice. "Fine. Since I seem to want your company, mind telling me why?" He walked past her, around the tiny island, to his kitchen. He put some water in the microwave to fix s ome instant coffee, then leaned against the counter, his gaze boring into the back of Amanda's skull.

She shrugged, looking absently around his flat. "To talk. About...things."

"Things," he commented warily.  _Things_ with her could mean anything. As he hadn't seen her in several months, he wondered what possessed her to show up on his doorstep, tonight of all nights. A suspicion started to grow, and he decided to play it out.

"Yes,  _things_. Whatever's on your mind. Anything at all." Her voice was too airy; too light. She was up to something, he could sense it.

The microwave dinged off and he turned to it, being careful with the hot liquid. "There is nothing to talk about," he answered forcefully.

He was pouring the water into two mugs when Amanda's voice caught up with him. "What about Silas?" The hot water spilled onto his hand, and he yelped with pain. He slammed the pot down to the counter and cursed. He spun on his heel, flicked on the water and held his injured hand under the faucet.

Amanda appeared at his elbow, and he glared at her. "I'm sorry, Methos." She took his hand and winced as she inspected the burns. "Nasty. Second degree, I think. It should heal in a few min--" her sentence trailed off as the burns started to fade, and the redness disappeared. "Neat trick," she quipped with a raised eyebrow.

Methos pulled his hand out of Amanda's, a bit too forcefully. "Comes with old age," he remarked snidely. His eyes narrowed as he continued, "And what do you know about him? Did MacLeod tell you?"

"I haven't seen MacLeod in months," she assured him. "Joe called me and told me some of what was going on -- with you, MacLeod, the Horsemen...not all of it, though. I got off the phone with him a few minutes before coming here." She placed her hand on his arm and studied his face. "He's worried about you, Methos."

He tried to shrug her off, but her grip was firm. Angrily, he snarled, "I don't need your worry, or Joe's. I told you, I'm fine."

She tightened her grip on his arm and her voice hardened. "Then how did you burn yourself? Weren't you paying attention? Or did something distract you?"

He stepped out of range of her grasp. "It slipped," he snapped. He was not in the mood to discuss Silas with anyone. He didn't think he ever would. It was another regret that he would carry with him until the day he lost his head. He turned and snatched up a towel to dry his hands, keeping his back to her. He hoped she got the hint.

"Why? Did I hit a nerve? Or were you just wanting to test your healing ability?" she tossed back at him.

Obviously, she was in a stubborn mood. Well, so was he. "Let it be, Amanda," he growled as he threw the towel onto the counter. He started to walk around Amanda, but she blocked his path.

"No, I won't," she replied as she rested her hand against his chest. "Joe thought you needed someone to talk to. Now that I've seen you, I agree with him." She frowned slightly as she continued to try to read his face. "What did MacLeod say to you?" she asked quietly.

His short bark of derisive laughter surprised her. "What didn't he say to me is more like it. Why'd you lie to me, what about Cassandra, you set me up... Should I go on? You name it, he accused me of it." He paused as he took deep breaths to control his breathing. "I was the epitome of evil."

"No room for explanations?" she asked neutrally.

"No," he replied, as he looked directly in her eyes. He was sure some of his pain filtered through, but he hoped the hurt did as well. MacLeod had hurt him, though Methos swore the Highlander would never know that. "He doesn't deserve them," he added quietly.

Amanda nodded her head once. "I agree."

He tilted his head to study her through narrowed eyes. "What?" He couldn't have heard her right. It sounded like she agreed with him.

She walked back toward the living room as she repeated, "I said, I agree. It was none of MacLeod's business what you had done three thousand years ago. You didn't owe him anything."

He followed her back to the couch, though he didn't let her see his face. He didn't think he could control his emotions just now. Everything was still too fresh and too close to the surface. Just enough of a push, and he would fall. And he didn't think he could come back. "He feels differently," he answered roughly, his voice sounding as old as he felt.

"I know he does." She sounded exasperated. "And that's  _his_ problem."

He turned to look at her then, letting his anger shine through his gaze. "No, Amanda, it's mine. It became mine when I stayed with MacLeod, despite all my instincts screaming at me to get away. When I chose his side instead of Kronos'. When I..." He was unable to continue; the pain of killing his brother was still too fresh.

"Killed Silas. I know," Amanda quietly finished for him.

Her tone was surprising gentle; almost, but not quite, apologetic. What had she learned of what had happened? Who had she learned all this from...? Of course. He snorted softly. "Joe again?"

She nodded, and Methos shook his head wearily. "That man doesn't know the meaning of non-interference."

"It's one of the reasons you like him so much," she countered.

Her tone was knowing, and despite himself, he felt one corner of his mouth lift in a rueful grin. Trust Amanda to get right to the heart of the matter. One of the reasons he liked her, though he hoped she never found that out. He'd never hear the end of it.

"True, but he doesn't have to know that." He tried to keep his face expressionless, but the release was bubbling just below the surface. He let out a much-needed laugh, lightening his mood considerably.

When his laughter died down, Amanda came to stand in front of him. "So, do you feel up to talking about it?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Methos answered, with only a trace of wistfulness. He was finally able to smile at her; a genuine smile. "But I thank you for what you've done."

"Oh, I haven't done anything - yet," she purred as she ran her hands up his chest. His hands claimed hers and gently lowered them.

"Amanda?" he questioned warily. "What are you doing?" She had a look in her eye. A look that spoke of centuries of intimate knowledge. He had a good guess what she was up to, and had his confirmation within seconds.

"Well, since you didn't want to talk...I figured I'd do something to take your mind off of your troubles," she murmured as she dipped her head to his neck.

"Sex is not the answer," he replied as he dropped her hands and took a step back. A battle began inside of him. Logically, this was a bad idea, but his body craved her desperately. She was old enough to know exactly what he was going through, and old enough to know exactly how to deal with it. Powerful, old Quickenings drove up the sex drive of the Immortal who received them, and for Methos, it had been an incredibly painful few weeks. He refused to relieve himself; his self-imposed punishment for breaking his oath to his Brothers.

She followed his step, taking a few more until her breasts brushed against his chest. "Maybe not...but it might be a good substitute. You did take a three thousand year old- plus Quickening, didn't you?" she purred.

"That's not the point, Amanda. This is a bad idea. I don't  _need_..." he tried to protest, but she was moving toward him with a predatory look in her eye.

"That _is_ the point, Methos. I can see you're in pain, and the quickest way I know to relieve pain is to drown it out. Give yourself something else to focus on."

He wanted desperately to believe her. He  _needed_ to believe her. He was to the point where he'd do anything to stop the aching sadness he had been fighting for weeks. He had put up a fairly good front with Joe, but with Amanda, that was impossible. He swallowed, not resisting, but not helping her as she leaned against him.

She nuzzled his neck, and a shiver coursed through him. Unable to stop himself, he arched his head to the side, exposing more flesh to her mouth. "Yes," he rasped, his head tilting back as her lips sucked at his neck. His eyes closed as he let himself fall into sensation, shutting down his mind.

"I know you have some built up energy." Her voice drifted to him, and he opened his eyes warily. Just how much did she know?

"Unless you've found other ways to get rid of it?" she queried knowingly with a sly grin. She stepped back from him and unbuttoned her coat. It pooled around her ankles, revealing a translucent white shift, tossed over an equally translucent negligee.

He inhaled sharply as his gaze raked her figure. He wanted her. He wanted her  _now_. A few dozen reasons why this was wrong flitted through his mind, instantly battered down by a driving need for physical contact. His head shook slowly as the battle raged inside of him. "Ama-" he started to protest, but one perfectly manicured fingernail brushed at his lower lip, halting his words.

"Don't ask questions, Methos. Just accept this." Amanda's voice was husky, and Methos' senses were teased by her light perfume as she shifted even closer. "I want to do this for you. Let me..."

He surrendered himself to her, tired of fighting his own body's demands. Self-punishment was best left for others; he wanted to feel again without the ache of loss. He opened his mouth and maneuvered her finger inside, rolling his tongue around it. Her large eyes closed, her lower lip disappearing into her own mouth as Methos made love to her finger... promises of what he would do to her whole body.

"Methos," she gasped, finally drawing her finger back and taking control again. Her face was flushed; a splash of color against her normally pale skin. Reaching around him, she pulled him closer, her hands splayed over his denim-clad ass.

His own body was responding to her nearness, and he felt the heat course through him and settle in his groin. Oh, she was very good at this. Why hadn't they ever had sex before? They'd certainly known each other long enough. Maybe that was the problem; they knew each other. But now, right now, he didn't care about anything...

Her hands traveled up his back to his shoulders, tugging his T-shirt out of his pants in the process. She gave him one slow, tantalizing kiss before stepping back. She laced her fingers through his, and he let her guide him to the bedroom. As she turned, her negligee flared, giving Methos more than a glance at her long, shapely legs.

She hadn't changed all that much from the day Rebecca had introduced them. Amanda had been with Rebecca for a good number of years, and she had learned a great deal under her teacher's tutelage. Amanda's natural sensualism had only been enhanced by her Immortality. It was part of her weapon against other Immortals, and she used it to the absolute best of her ability. Just as she was doing to him, now.

He groaned softly as she pulled him in tight against her. He twisted his hips slightly, rubbing his erection against her. Her hands stroked along his shoulders, tracing the line of muscle she found there. She tilted her head up and gave him a slow, wet kiss. Her tongue slid easily between his parted lips, urging his to action. Methos groaned again as her hands caressed his neck, tracing delicate patterns on his sensitive skin. His hands rested at her hips as he pulled her tightly against him, allowing her to feel exactly how she was affecting him.

She smiled against his lips, shifting until she could work her knee between his legs, rubbing sensually against his thigh. He openly moaned as his kisses grew more forceful. One hand cupped the back of her head as he plundered her mouth; the other tugged insistently at her shoulder strap. Instinct and the heavy scent of arousal blinded him. He wanted this woman, and he would have her - now.

She pushed him away, breathing heavily. "Methos, please. Slow down."

A low, feral growl emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, and Amanda's eyes widened. Her breasts were clearly visible through the sheer negligee, and Methos could see their rosy, erect peaks moving as she breathed. His gaze was heavy upon her body, resting at a point near her collarbone. His eyes narrowed as he flexed his fingers. A challenge was always welcome. Something to fire his blood even more. To push him to the limits of his control - and beyond. The woman's Immortal buzz was a low thrum in his body, reminding him that there  _were_ no limits with this one. A sensuous, dangerous smile curled his lips.

A shudder rippled down her body and she swallowed heavily.

"Come here," Methos commanded, his voice low and dangerous. Amanda took an involuntary step toward him, her eyes riveted on his face. In one fluid motion, Methos ripped his T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His finely muscled chest had a thin sheen of sweat on it already, yet his breathing was very controlled. He advanced on her, moving with the grace of a panther, circling her as if she were a meal about to be devoured. Dipping his head, he let his warm breath tickle the skin of her neck. He chuckled; a low, throaty sound. "You liked that, didn't you?" he purred into her ear.

"Yes," she whimpered, her voice rough as her own arousal overtook her.

Methos trailed one finger from her wrist to her shoulder, shifting the silk on her skin slightly, just enough to cause another shiver. He slowly bared her right shoulder, kissing each inch of skin as it was exposed. She tilted her head back and moaned, leaning into his chest as he nibbled at her neck, just below her earlobe. "Why?" he whispered as his thumb brushed the back of her neck.

She breathed deeply, once, then answered, "Because... because it was animalistic. Primal. And..." she moaned softly as his tongue flicked her earlobe, derailing her train of thought.

His hands went still on her body, and he closed his eyes. Painful memories swept through him, and he winced from their potency. One thousand years of what he had been poured through him in the space of a few seconds, rocking him to his core. All the women he had raped. All the Immortals he had broken, then killed. All the death and destruction. His stomach churned as he realized what he had been thinking. What he had almost allowed to happen. His voice was rough as he asked, "Because you imagined the Horseman was back. Am I right?"

"Yes," Amanda answered, her voice unsteady. She turned to face him then, her face flushed with arousal. She reached up to cup his face and stared deep into his eyes. "I'm not afraid of you, Methos. I want to know what you were like back then."

"You don't know what you're asking." His voice was almost a plead, the passion in his eyes fading to sadness at her request.

Amanda pulled him forward and kissed him again, brutally; forcefully. "Show me," she ordered, her voice soft but laced with steel.

Didn't she know what she was asking? Didn't she realize what he could  _do_ to her? His hands caught hers as he shook his head. "No," he whispered hoarsely.

"Please," Amanda whispered.

"I can't," Methos answered, breathing raggedly. "I can't do that...can't _be_ that, anymore. Ever! The Horseman is dead." He paused, then pulled her hands to his chest. He looked down at their joined hands, then up into her eyes, allowing his hurt to show. "Amanda, _I_ want to make love to you. Not the Horseman, not Adam Pierson. Me. Methos. Will you let me?"

Amanda searched his face intently, and he feared she would leave him right then. But she simply answered, "Yes."

He felt tears well up in his eyes and had to look away. How much one word could mean! It had been too long since someone had known who he really was. Lovers had known him as one persona or another, but it had been over five hundred years since one had known him as Methos. He quickly gathered himself and focused on her.

He allowed her to guide him to the bed and push him gently down. He almost protested when she kneeled before him, but her sharp look halted his words. Slipping off his belt, she leaned up and kissed him; enticed him. He responded, slower this time, as his passion had cooled. Her hand dropped to his pants and worked the button and zipper open. He felt her smile as her fingers dipped inside and coaxed him to painful hardness.

He growled, a deep rumbling in his chest as she started to stroke him. He leaned forward, pushing his cock into her hand as he reached for her shift. Pulling her hands away from him, though it pained him to do so, he watched as the silk dropped to the floor. Lowering his head, he latched his teeth onto one breast through the thin cloth of her negligee, tugging it gently. Amanda moaned and arched up into his mouth. He sucked at her breast, the cloth sticking to her skin. He shifted to her other breast while his right hand skimmed her thigh, pushing the negligee up to her waist. His hand returned to her thigh, moving higher until his fingers brushed her curls. His thumb found her clitoris and he stroked it firmly. A tremor shot through her body, and her nails dug into his thigh.

He groaned against her shoulder, the vibrations skittering along her sensitized skin. "Amanda," he gasped, pulling back to stare into her eyes.

There was no hesitation in her eyes as she placed her hands on Methos' shoulders and urged him to lie flat on the bed.

"Amanda," Methos repeated, breathing her name like a prayer. He wanted to touch her again. He needed that contact. He started to sit up on his elbows, but her hand on his chest stopped him from rising.

"No. Just lie there, Methos," Amanda instructed. She searched his face, and he allowed her to see the pain of lost lovers, the joy of new ones, and the ache of  _want_. Of desire. He only hoped it had the desired effect.

"When was the last time someone made love to you?" she asked quietly.

His eyes were dark, hazy with arousal as he looked at her through lowered lashes. Not quite what he wanted, but close enough. "To Methos? Over five hundred years. To me? A couple of years. I haven't exactly been living the most affluent lifestyle lately," he admitted ruefully.

She caressed his temples, and he felt the worry lines that had become permanent during the Bordeaux incident start to fade. She leaned down and brushed his lips, murmuring, "I will make love to you."

She was so heartbreakingly sincere that Methos felt tears welling up in his eyes again. "I don't deserve this," he whispered. "I'm not used to..." His argument was cut off by Amanda's mouth on his.

Her kiss was hard and demanding, but filled with promise. Methos heard himself whimper as she left his mouth to suck along his jawline. She paused at his neck, her breath hot on its expanse. Carefully, slowly, the tip of her tongue ran the length of his neck, stopping just above his collarbone. His groan built up, getting louder as Amanda reached the hollow at the base of his throat. She rained kisses over his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipples, leaving no part of him untouched by her lips. Lower she moved, until she brushed her nose into his navel and giggled softly.

Methos felt as if he were continually moaning, completely swept up in the moment. Rarely had he taken Immortal lovers, and rarer still when he let down his guard. Tonight, with Amanda, he was completely open. As she moved lower on his body, worshipping it with her tongue, he let down more of his barriers, feeling emotionally exposed as she started to pull off his jeans. He let out a startled yelp as her fingernails raked his erection.

Amanda gasped, her eyes filling instantly with tears. "I'm sorry!" she whispered, quickly dropping her head and taking him into her mouth, soothing his pain with her tongue. He swallowed hard, the pain/pleasure shaking his fragile defenses. He groaned, letting his head fall back as Amanda expertly sucked at him, twirling her tongue up and around and down...

"Amanda," he rasped. His hands tugged her head up to his face, and he kissed her lightly. His hands were shaking as he asked softly, "Please, stop."

"What? Why?" she murmured, her soft kisses still soothing, her hands caressing his face tenderly.

"Because it wasn't that bad, and because if you had continued, this would have been a very short night," he joked, though his attempt at laughter fell flat. This much intensity after none for months was too much. It was shattering defenses that had survived centuries. His face was serious as his eyes took in her expression, partway between hurt and sympathy.

"Don't joke, Methos, not now," she pleaded softly, resting her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry," he replied, stroking her hair. "It's my last defense," he admitted on a whispered breath. He covered her hands with his and guided them back down to his erection, which had not faded. "Go ahead," he rasped, pleading with his eyes. He let go of her hands and braced himself with his palms flat on the bed behind him. He shifted slightly to give her better access, then looked to her face.

She blinked at him, her confusion fading into startling understanding. "Oh, Methos," she whispered as she leaned in and brushed a feather-light kiss to his lips. That brief touch sent a jolt of emotion through them both, and they whimpered simultaneously.

Amanda took extra care in removing his pants, then took up her mouth's worship of his body. She started at his ankles and worked her way up one leg, then the other. Reaching the junction of his thighs, her kisses turned into nibbles; small bites that caused him to gasp and jerk under her. Nuzzling Methos' erection with her nose, Amanda lavished it with her tongue, then slipped the head into her mouth. Sucking gently, she wrapped her hand around the base and stroked slowly.

His arms were shaking from restraint, his entire body tense as a wire. He could feel himself near the edge, and wanted - needed - Amanda to stop. Or keep going forever. "'Manda," he rasped, trying to warn her, but she just took him deeper. He felt himself engulfed completely, scratching the back of her throat. His hips bucked twice, then he came, his moan slowly fading to a rasp as Amanda swallowed his essence.

She continued to lick at him, fondling his sac a bit before slithering up to rest beside him on the bed. He had fallen backwards sometime during his orgasm, though he didn't remember doing it. He raised a hand to rub at Amanda's neck, drawing her close and kissing her deeply, the faint taste of himself on her tongue.

He pulled back, etching the image of Amanda's face glowing with lust in his memory. "Your turn," he whispered with a wicked grin. His hand pushed her gown off her shoulders completely, helping it past her breasts until it pooled at her waist. He bent his head and took one breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking at the nipple, working it until it was a hard nub.

Amanda moaned under him, arching her back as she tried to get him closer. Her fingernails scratched up his back; then her hands pushed at his head, forcing him to take her deeper. Smiling, he licked her nipple, then took it between his teeth and pulled gently until she gasped. His tongue left a wet trail between her breasts as he shifted to the left one, paying it the same attention as he had the right.

Methos expertly shifted them both until Amanda was on her back. He slid her gown off her legs, the feel of silk no comparison to her skin. He stroked her skin lightly with his mouth and hands, feather-light touches that left her gasping. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, and he and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. But the images he saw weren't of Amanda; they were of Cassandra, begging him to let her go. Shrieking at him to stop. Pleading with him to not kill her again...and again . . and again... Hyperventilating, he rolled away from Amanda and covered his face.

"Methos?" he dimly heard Amanda call, but the voices from the past were louder.

He swallowed hard, trying to force the images away, but they continued. The faces of those he had raped, brutalized, destroyed, killed...hundreds of faces...thousands . . . "No," he moaned piteously, as he lost himself in the emotions.

Rough hands grabbed him and shook him. "Methos!" he heard someone yell, louder this time. The memories faded, and he remembered where he was and who he was with. Choking out a sob, he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Amanda. The enormity of what she had done, and what he had been about to, nearly crushed his chest. "How can you?" he gasped.

"How can I, what?" she asked, her face twisted by confusion.

"How can you..." He indicated the bed and her nude body, unable to look at her. "Have sex with a monster," he finished quietly, his voice filled with the horror of what he had been.

Amanda picked up his hands, and he felt her steady heartbeat underneath his palm when she brought them to her chest. "I'm not." Her tone was strong; assured. "I'm making love to you, Methos. You're not a monster."

His head shook involuntarily as the customary sadness filled his soul. "You don't know me. You do not know what I have done."

"Yes, I do," she insisted as she squeezed his hands.

He yanked his hands out of hers and stared at her, horrified. "You know nothing!" he raged as he stumbled off the bed. He pointed at her and the walls around them as he turned in a circle, continuing his tirade. All the pent-up emotions poured out of him in one fell swoop. "I was a murderer. A rapist. I killed people because  _I liked it_. I forced them to do terrible things...horrible things, because I liked seeing the humiliation on their faces! I liked the feeling of power over them; over their puny, mortal lives. What match were they for me? I was a god! I had the world at my feet and my brothers at my side. I had everything I could ever want." He finally stopped, his breathing harsh in the silence.

His hardened gaze slid to the bed, where Amanda sat silently. "Well? Nothing to say to that? Or did I frighten the poor little woman?" he sneered.

He gasped as Amanda jumped off the bed and shoved him up against the wall, kissing him brutally. He struggled against her, but she had surprise on her side. Both of his hands were against the wall by his head, held there by her strength. Her lips were bruising his, her teeth drawing blood from his lips. He surrendered himself to the feelings as he crushed his own lips back against hers, and tasted their mixed blood.

She finally gasped and pulled her head back as she gulped for air. Her gaze was as hard as her voice as she replied breathlessly, "You didn't frighten me, Methos. Nothing you could say or do would frighten me. I used to live on the streets, remember? I used to be the woman forced to her knees, commanded to do your bidding. Does it still excite you, Methos?" She released one of his hands to rake her fingernails up his chest as she hissed into his ear, "Does the thrill still run up your spine?"

He shivered from her touch and her words, not sure which had caused his cock to stretch and fill. It was nestled between her thighs, and her smug grin told him she knew what she had done to him. He tried to turn his face away from hers, tried to keep his eyes averted from hers, but she grasped his head. He clamped his eyes shut. "Methos. Open your eyes and look at me."

"No," he rasped, the fear he felt evident in his voice. He was so close to giving in to her, he could taste it. But he had to resist; he couldn't let himself feel that again. Her fingernails dug into his jaw, forcing his head higher. He was up on tiptoe, trying to get away from her grasp, part of him reveling in the pain.

"Methos. Tell me you don't want that control back. Tell me you don't crave it, and I'll leave. But you have to look at me."

Something inside him released. He wasn't sure what it was yet, but he knew it gave him strength. It gave him something he had craved, but had denied himself. Giving in to his darker passions was something he had carefully kept a tight rein on, unwilling and unable to let loose. The freedom he now felt was overwhelming and immediate. He took a few deep breaths, then opened his eyes, leveling his gaze on hers. "I want it," he whispered hoarsely as his free hand grabbed her around the neck. He yanked her close, his lips doing the bruising this time. Forcing her lips apart, he thrust his tongue inside and took command of her mouth...of her very breath. She struggled faintly against him, but it only served to heighten his arousal, and he tightened his hold on her. "I want you," he gasped before biting his way down her neck.

Her head was thrown back, giving him plenty of access to her most vulnerable spot. And his mouth ravished it, biting and sucking until blood ran in thin rivulets down her collarbone. Bending his head, he licked it off, savoring the flavor. Breathing raggedly, he commanded her, "On the bed."

Her eyes were glazed over as she obeyed...though on rather shaky knees. His own felt rubbery, and he felt light-headed...and free. Free of obligations, free of civilization, free of moral codes set by know-it-all Scotsmen. It was exhilarating.

Amanda stretched out on her back, watching him with anticipation. He admitted to himself that he wanted to hear her cry out in pain, but decided he wouldn't do it. It was what she was expecting, and he hated to do the expected. Moving swiftly, he was on the bed before she could blink. He knelt between her spread thighs and sucked strongly at her. He pushed two fingers inside of her, his fingers moving quickly from her slick juices. Her back arched and she cried out - not with pain, but in surprise and pleasure. His cock jumped at the sound, aching to be inside of her. Just a few more strokes...she tightened around his fingers, and he sucked harder until he felt her nails dig into his shoulders. Her orgasm ripped through her, a strangled sound coming from deep within her.

While she was still shuddering, he entered her fully, groaning at the sensation of being totally surrounded by heat. His control was nearly gone so he thrust hard and fast, driving himself to climax quickly. He grunted as he came, emptying himself inside of her. His arms gave out, and he collapsed on top of her, unable to catch his breath.

"Methos?"

Amanda's soft voice was near his ear, and he lifted his head, puzzled. "Amanda?" He pushed himself upright and winced as he pulled himself out of her. His puzzlement faded and he grew concerned. In his haze, he couldn't quite remember what all he had done to her. "Did I hurt you?" he asked almost timidly.

"No," she murmured sleepily. "But you were getting heavy."

"Oh, right. Sorry." He felt disoriented, unsure of what time it was ...or where he was. Everything was a whirlwind of sensation, and he couldn't recall details. "What happened? I mean, I know what  _happened_." He rolled his eyes at her amused expression. "I meant, what happened to me?"

She pulled herself to a more comfortable position, then reached out and stroked the side of his face. "I think you passed out. I'm not sure."

He started, surprised. He was sure he hadn't passed out during sex in at least a millennia, at least he thought so. It was something he just didn't do. It could be fatal for him. "I shouldn't have done that," he mumbled.

"What? You shouldn't have had sex?" she teased. She curled her body as she yawned, exposing every arch and curve to Methos' gaze.

He shook his head, debating how much to tell her. After what she had done for him tonight, he really felt he could trust her. Probably a dangerous thing, but hey, he had survived a friendship with MacLeod; why not Amanda? "Not with another Immortal. It leaves me too vulnerable," he admitted. He sat up and ran a hand through his matted hair, avoiding the tempting picture of Amanda's body. However, he couldn't stop a yawn from escaping.

"I see. Well, you can sleep easy, Methos. I'm not going to take your head. At least, not the one your thinking of," she smiled cheekily.

"Ha-ha. Very funny, Amanda." He turned serious, regarding her frankly. He was about to ask her a very important question, and he hoped she realized just how important it was to him. "I haven't slept much lately. I could do with a good night's sleep. I can trust you, can't I?" he asked as non-threateningly as he could, but that thread of fear remained with him; he supposed it always would. He also hoped she wouldn't take it as a ribbing; he honestly wanted her company.

"You can trust me," she promised as she kissed him lightly. "Now, come here," she patted the spot next to her on the bed.

He shifted until he lie next to her, then pulled the comforter up around them. "Amanda, there's one thing I should tell you. Ask you, actually."

"What's that?" she asked softly as she wrapped her arms around him.

He closed his eyes and prayed she would understand without him having to explain. He whispered very softly in her ear, "Will you hold me all night?"

He felt her hand stroke his hair, then her answer whispered past his ear. "I promise. Especially when the nightmares come, Methos."

More of the tension left his body, and he settled down in Amanda's arms. His eyes closed against the remembered blood, but this time, the sun rose instead of set; a new day was dawning.

The End


End file.
